


Cold Mercy

by RedHead



Series: Ice Hot Lightning [2]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, PWP, Pure Smut, Sex, Temperature Play, Threesome, Voyeurism, anal insertion, kind of, overtones of dominance, pain with pleasure, this whole thing is shameless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 11:33:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3976540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedHead/pseuds/RedHead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt fill for my 100 followers prompt giveaway on tumblr (prompt described in the author's notes)</p><p>Barry agrees to a deal with the devil and finds himself enjoying it a lot more than he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Mercy

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [[授权翻译]任冷处置/Cold Mercy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4175622) by [kiy900](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiy900/pseuds/kiy900)
  * Inspired by [Cold Doesn't Bother Me Anyway](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3294950) by [Nevcolleil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevcolleil/pseuds/Nevcolleil). 



> The prompt: dubcon, smutty, pain and pleasure, barry begging to come, mick joining in or holding barry down while cold has barry at his mercy, len using his cold gun/or a piece of ice
> 
> I can't believe I wrote this. I blush when reading it.
> 
> Inspired largely by “Cold Doesn’t Bother Me Anyway” by Nevcolleil and also somewhat by “Saints and Sinners” by Bealeciphers (both of which you should all go read, and yeah you’ll definitely see some parallels to them if you do).
> 
> Come find in at coldtomyflash.tumblr.com for more ColdFlash (and more than just pwp's)!

“Selling your _services_ , Flash?”

Barry glared. He was offering to _steal_ something for Snart in exchange for helping transport the meta-humans, since he definitely couldn’t afford the number the other man had written on that napkin. Even STAR Labs couldn’t justify that kind of expense, probably didn’t have it in their holding accounts anyway.

“You make it sound like I'm a prostitute, Snart.”

“Now now, don’t be so quick to judge sex-workers, kid, they also sell their bodies you know, so consider the company you’re keeping.”

He set his jaw at Snart’s condescending drawl. At least he had his attention. But the look the other was giving him was very calculating, almost predatory.

“On that note, I’ve figured out something I would want from you, since you’re so keen.”

Barry raised his eyebrows in question.

“Your body.”

And oh how Snart smirked when he asked for a bit more detail as to what that entailed, the other man moving around the table, into his space, suddenly way too close, lips next to his ear. “I think you can guess.”

He shivered but didn’t back down because—oh. Selling his services, prostitution, oh god—what was he doing?

“Why don’t you spell it out for me,” his voice was tight, he needed to know what he was getting into. With a glance at the bartender who was pretending not to pay attention to them, Cold’s hand was sliding up _under_ the cotton of his shirt, settling on his waist. It was a sharp and icy contrast to the heat of his skin and he bit the inside of his lip but tried not to show any outward sign discomfort or fear, but then lips grazed the skin just below his ear and it didn’t matter how he tried to hide it, his whole body trembled.

“What I want, Barry Allen,” nose pressing to the skin behind his ear and then lips just capturing the lobe, sucking for a half second that made him gasp, “Is to fuck you however I see fit,” that sounded terrifying to Barry but Cold leaned back enough to catch his gaze and continued, “Just once, of course, I don’t expect for an ongoing arrangement.” His eyes were dark like he wanted just that, entirely too wolfish of a smirk dancing on his lips. “But I do expect it on my terms.”

His hand was still under Barry’s shirt and goddammit, what was he gonna’ say? There were lives riding on this, after all, and it couldn’t be so bad. It wasn't like he wasn’t attracted to men, even if he’d never gone quite that far with one, but he _did_ have to lay down some ground rules. “No inflicting permanent damage on my body, no videotaping it for blackmail, no—”

Cold’s eyes had widened, “You’re actually agreeing to this?”

This had better not all have been some goddamn joke because it was _not_ funny. “I’ll do whatever I have to do,” he ground out, and no it wasn’t a joke because Snart looked like Christmas had come early, his other hand reaching up to Barry’s opposite side, both of them now under his shirt.

“Any more conditions?”

“You wear protection.”

“And if I can certify I’m clean?”

Barry swallowed, uncomfortably aware of the hands on his waist and how close he and Snart were standing, just inches between their bodies. He wished the bartender wasn’t there, really not enjoying how much of a show they were putting on. He had no good argument against Snart if he _could_ certify he was clean but he was still uncomfortable with the thought of letting him, of him… wow his head was having a hard time wrapping around reality right now. “How about no?”

Snart cocked his head to the side. “Fine, I’m not a monster. But I do want one another thing.”

Barry stiffened.

“Someone’s going to be joining us.”

Oh that was not cool, not cool at all, he stepped back—“Why on earth should I—would you want—”

“I won’t let him fuck you, don’t worry—you’re _mine_. But a friend of mine has an appetite for watching and you present a _unique_ opportunity for enjoyment.”

He looked down and to the side, jaw clenched. Was he really about to sell his _body_ to Leonard Snart in exchange for his protection? Leonard Snart and someone else? “When and where?” apparently he was.

Snart rolled off an address and told him to meet him in an hour before stepping back and casting a long, appraising glance up Barry’s frame and leaving.

He was so utterly fucked. Not even metaphorically, his treacherous brain supplied.

The next hour passed too fast and he bought condoms and lube just in case Snart wouldn’t, ran around the city to blow off nervous energy, showered, then made it to the address he’d been given. He cased around it for a quick second to make sure it wasn’t a trap of some sort but no—Snart was there with just one other person. Mick Rory.

His stomach plummeted. This was a joke, it had to be.

He suddenly wondered if he should have shown up in his Flash suit and was about to speed off and grab it when Snart opened the door, clearly seeing him standing out front debating with himself.

“Barry, glad you could make it.”

Okay, his name, okay so either Rory knew or—

“You were right Len, the Flash is pretty under that mask.”

“For real?! You told _Mick Rory_ —” He was gonna’ kill Snart.

“Relax, Barry, we can separate business and pleasure.”

Clearly they couldn’t or Barry wouldn’t even be here. “Whatever,” he pushed passed Snart into the abode, “Let’s just get this over with.”

He followed Rory into a bedroom at the back of the house, his back to Snart and it made him uncomfortable. He should probably get over that, because he was about to be a lot vulnerable here than just having his back to Cold.

Snart closed the door behind them with an air of finality and Barry glanced around the room. There was a king sized bed taking up most of the small space, a dresser with a mirror, a chair in the corner, a door to a closet. Barry swallowed hard, a mix of too many conflicting sensations, too many nerves and tight tension coiled in his stomach. What had he gotten himself into?

“So, what should I—I mean do I…” he was a bit out of his depth, but Snart spared him by stepping into his space again, hands immediately finding his waist and gently squeezing.

“Just do what I tell you, Scarlet.”

He glared but it didn’t matter because then the other man was kissing him. He reeled at the sudden sensation, lips on his own, capturing his bottom one and nibbling. He remembered to close his eyes, hands clenching by his sides until Cold grabbed his arms and put them around himself, so he was holding onto the man, touching his back, fingers bunching in the material of his shirt while he let himself be kissed.

When he felt Snart’s tongue slide along his lip he almost clenched his jaw tighter, but reminded himself that he’d agreed to be here, that he needed Snart’s help. So he opened his mouth and let Leonard _really_ kiss him, tongue smoothing over his lips and then into his mouth, intense and practiced, sliding along the roof of his mouth and making him shiver. He found himself kissing back, almost on instinct, not really surprised his body was responding but still unsure how he felt about that, even while his fingers started to relax and move to a more natural position encasing the other man.

Then he felt cold hands pressing under his sweater and undershirt, along his skin and he shivered, ready and unready for it, for Snart to peel the garments over his head and leave him feeling exposed. They broke the kiss for the shirts to go overhead and he suddenly remembered Rory was there as he looked up, the other man on the chair in the corner, leaning back casually in an undershirt and pants, eyes intent on Barry and Leonard. He swallowed. Definitely feeling exposed.

“Eyes on me, Scarlet,” Snart said and Barry snapped his attention back to him, the other man having pulled off his own shirt. Then Leonard was leaning in, bodies aligning, putting a hand into Barry’s hair and pulling gently on the strands so he would tilt his neck, giving Snart access to kiss along the exposed flesh. He bit his lip to hold in a gasp and stay steady, unshaking, placed his hands around Snart again just to do something with them, sliding them up to his shoulder blades. The bare skin was tantalizing and new beneath his hands and he felt too intimate touching it, like a live wire, electricity thrumming through him. 

His tense muscles meant he felt every soft graze of Cold’s lips, teasing him, hands sliding down his body, brushing over his back and his sensitive sides, thumbs teasing along his abs and then the hollows of his hips. He couldn't stop from shuddering again, especially when Leonard started to suck a bruise onto his neck at the same time his thumbs pressed into the v of Barry's hips, and he wished he could bite back the sound he made when it happened. He felt the man smirk against his skin before switching sides and giving the opposing side of his neck the same treatment.

Then those hands were dipping lower, and he found himself biting his lip again, cheeks heating up in shame as fingers brushed over his increasingly obvious arousal, tenting his jeans. He felt Len chuckle against his skin and the air it blew past his ear made him shiver. Then the man's fingers slid over bottle of lube and the condoms jutting in Barry's pocket and he slipped his hand in, pulled them out.

“My my, Barry, someone hasn’t forgotten the boyscout motto.” Always be prepared. He dropped the items on the ground. “I assure you though, we have more than enough on hand here.” Then Len’s fingers were undoing his jeans and he drew in a sharp breath as the zipper was pulled down over his erection, freeing it finally, more comfortable if more exposed. Fingers teased over him on the outside of his underwear and he blushed harder, dropped his hands to Snart’s belt loops for something to hold onto.

The other man stepped back and the sudden loss of contact made him chill. He opened his eyes, not having realized he’d closed them, and Len had the look of a man who was _very_ pleased about his current lot in life.

“Undress.”

It took a second for his brain to process and then his eyes widened a bit, couldn’t help but flicker to Mick Rory in the corner and then back. No way to go but forward. Then he was doing just that, sliding his jeans and underwear down his legs. His fingers trembled slightly but he steadied them, pushing down his own embarrassment as he felt the eyes of both men devouring him, forcing himself to stare straight ahead rather than at either of them.

“You ever given a blowjob, Scarlet?”

Oh shit. He almost laughed, definitely from nerves. He gave a jerky sort of nod, knowing he might babble if he opened his mouth. It had been a while, but he’d done it. And he didn’t even need Snart’s arched eyebrow to tell he was surprised. “Barry, Barry, Barry, you are a fountain of interest. By all means, show me what you’ve got.”

Right. Okay, this he could do. Embarrassing as it might feel right now, there was nothing shameful about giving head. And Cold was just staring at him, all challenge, so he glared back, jaw set and resolved before he stepped forward and dropped to his knees. He was gonna’ give Snart the best damn blowjob the man had ever had and watch him eat his own condescending tone.

Of course, it might help if he had a little more practice. His hands went to the other's zipper, his turn to pull it down over Leonard's growing erection. And then the sight of the flush cock in front of his face was definitely a bit intimidating, thick and heavy and only half-hard still, and he felt heat rise up in his cheeks as soon as he brought his hand up to stroke it. His hand was a bit unsure but he figured it out before long, gave the other man some experimental strokes before he quelled his fear and brought his lips to circle the head, noticing immediately that Leonard gave a satisfied sigh above him. It was a bit encouraging though and he started to bob his head, tongue along the bottom like he knew he always enjoyed others doing to him, hand moving in time.

He was just getting a rhythm going, actually distracted and getting comfortable with the motion, when he felt fingers slide into his hair, jolting him. The hand settled in and stayed heavy on the back of his head, not pressing insistently but a guiding presence, the other man’s hips giving micro-movements that made this whole thing a lot more difficult. He felt the tip of Len’s cock pressing against his throat, each time he slid his mouth back down the length, deeper on each minute thrust. His eyes screwed closed to focus on coordinating his hand and mouth and tongue all at once, trying not to gag.

Then Len started murmuring praises, “So good,” and “Like that, Scarlet” and “Just—yeah,” and he felt a renewed sense of purpose, sucking harder, “Fuck you’re so pretty,” his eyes snapped up to see Len looking down at him, eyes glazed and dark and he couldn’t help but flush in shame, even as the other said, “Too pretty, Barry, you look so good with your lips around my cock.” And god that shouldn’t do whatever it was doing to him, warmth spreading from his stomach, outward and downward, his own cock twitching at the words.

The hand in his hair clenched suddenly and fuck that felt good too, but then it was pulling his head back and Len said, “But I don't want to come in your mouth.” And right, right, the other man was going to fuck him. He closed his mouth, bottom lip having been hanging, his own eyes lidded as he looked up at Len from his knees. “But, damn do you look good, Scarlet.”

He almost laughed. Who knew Captain Cold would be a talker? Actually, he doubted anyone would be surprised, given the theatricality of the other.

Len let go of his hair and he took that as an indication that he could stand, and all the muscles in his body tensed again when the other man said, “Mick.”

Right, they weren’t alone. Barry kept conveniently forgetting that, and now  whipped his head around as the other man stood. Rory's pants were still on but undone, cock out, hard and weeping. He looked away, somehow it was easier to focus on Leonard.

“I thought you said—”

“Don’t worry, Barry, I meant what I said. He won’t be fucking you, just get on the bed.”

He swallowed but didn’t exactly have a rebuttal so he did what he was asked, sitting gingerly on the side. Mick Rory walked passed him and sat at the end, leering at Barry on his way by, and then settled on his knees in the middle of the bed with his back to the headboard.

“Lay down, in the center.”

Cold was clearly a person used to giving orders, snapping commands without hesitation. But Barry wasn’t about to argue, as much as he had a tendency to snap back at alpha male types, too much riding on it right now. So he settled himself back and shifted until his back was to Rory, leaning back on his elbows, body stretched out for Leonard’s viewing pleasure. The other man eyed it appreciatively.

“Put your arms up, behind you.”

He blinked because Rory was behind him, and oh, _oh_. He bit the inside of his cheek. In for a penny… breathing in deep to steady himself, he lowered onto his back, slowly bringing his arms above his head. He felt more than saw—could barely see the flashes of movement behind him from this position, staring instead at the ceiling—Rory take his wrists and cross his arms above his head then push them down into the mattress, holding him in place.

Barry’s breathing was a bit erratic, this was intense. Heatwave holding him down, Captain Cold eyeing his naked body. He’d never felt so bare and vulnerable, cock still partway hard, unprotected torso stretched out, arms above his head. This is not how he expected his day to go. And technically, _technically_ he could escape at any moment, could speed his way out there and the other men wouldn’t have a second to stop him. But then he wouldn’t get what he needed either. So he bit his cheek still and tried not to let his apprehension show.

Satisfied with the view, Len picked up a few items off the dresser and dropped them onto the bed next to Barry. He could see lube and condoms and a glove and something blue he didn’t recognize; it looked like a cylinder.

But then Cold was leaning over him again, legs straddling his thighs, kissing him, and the intensity ratcheted up again. Hands splayed over his chest and teased his nipples while Len’s tongue pushed its way past his lips and the man proceeded to kiss him so hard his head was being pushed back into the mattress.  He was fucking his tongue into Barry’s mouth and he felt himself groan, body pressing up into cold hands, already kissing back fiercely, teeth and tongue, passionate and angry. And maybe it had just been too long since he got laid, but this much, at least, he could get used to.

After the intensity set his body thrumming, Len finally pulled back and a long line of saliva connected them. His gaze was hungry, voice low and raspy, “Someone’s not afraid to play.”

Barry bared his teeth and Cold’s grin grew. Then he was reaching over, pulling on the glove and what was that fo—he used it to pick up the blue cylinder and oh, oh no, that couldn’t be—

“Don’t worry, Scarlet, I’ll still be playing by the rules. This should tingle.”

Ha—ha, ha, ha— _fuck_ that was an understatement.

No wonder Mick Rory was holding him down.

Snart dragged the end of the cold cylinder against him, a long stripe from chest to navel and he _swore_ , whole body bucking, Cold’s legs clamping hard down on his thighs to keep in him place and Mick Rory’s grip tight on his arms. Rory readjusted then, bringing a knee onto Barry’s crossed arms to hold them and used his hands to press down on to juncture between his shoulders and neck, fingers pushing down on his clavicles, making sure Barry wouldn’t dislodge him.

“Are you _insane_ Snart?” he snarled the words.

“Now, Barry, no permanent damage, that’s what you said? Trust me, relax and I’ll make sure you enjoy this.”

Trust him, _trust him_?! Trust the guy dragging a piece of dangerous weaponry down his—

“Oh _fuuuck_ ,” down his side, along his ribs. He shuddered but his body was held fast and more prepared this time. It was so _cold_. His whole side felt frozen at the touch, a shock of pain, almost numb where the cylinder slide and then warm again all around it, creating a contrast as his body started to try and heal. It wasn't like a blast from the gun, not as intensely painful and not as long-lasting, not damaging. It was _just_ this side of pain, pain but not _pain_ , just enough that with his adrenaline spiking it was making things more intense, making his whole body more sensitive.

“That’s it, Scarlet.”

He was shivering, gasping, swearing as Len moved the cylinder along him, traced his abs, so fucking cold, his opposite side, sensitized ribs. His teeth were starting to chatter together with the cold but the hot press of Mick’s hands on him was keeping him in place, even his knee on Barry’s arms starting to feel warm as the rest of his body cooled, and the heat of Len straddling his thighs—the contrast was amazing. If he was starting to arch and buck again, it was for a different reason.

Then Len pressed the cold cell to his nipple and it was so intense, too intense, and he heard himself saying that, keening, too much, and Len removed it. He had a half second to recover before Cold promptly did his other nipple and he swore because  _fuck_ Len’s mouth was on his nipple, cold to hot, and could feel himself trembling and it felt so good, too good—he was hard as a rock and arching his body up into Len’s mouth because he needed this feeling to _last_. And then the man was alternating, cold against one nipple, then hot mouth, sucking on it, a nibble of teeth while the other nipple was being half-frozen and then he would swap again. It kept going until Barry could no longer tell which was hot and which was cold, only that it was good, so good, and he was whimpering and gasping and then—

And then Len pulled back and smiled down and him and he felt  _wrecked_. The hand was sliding the cylinder down to his hip even as Len's other hand uncapped the lube, moving himself between Barry’s legs. The fog of intense sensations in his brain started to clear enough for Barry to spread them wider for Leonard, giving him access, because fuck his body felt like it was on fire but in a good, hot and painful, cold and shivering way. He was achingly hard.

Without preamble he felt cool fingers press at his entrance, teasing and Len smirked one more time at him before pushing one past the tight ring of muscle. It felt foreign and weird and all of his body's overstimulated nerves seemed to coalesce onto it as it fucked into him, just barely deep enough to graze his prostate before receding and reentering in a rhythmic motion. He felt his body tremble before it was joined by another finger, felt the hands on his clavicles tighten by a fraction as he pressed back against the digits. Len was using his other hand to drag the cylinder along Barry’s thigh even as he pressed those two fingers into Barry's prostate, the cold devastating his senses. He whimpered when the fingers scissored inside him and then there were three of them fucking into him, stretching his body wider. He groaned and rocked his hips back down onto them as best as he could, gasping, wishing Len would touch his cock because he was so fucking hard he couldn't think straight anymore, needing some release from the intense sensations.

Then he felt the fingers retreat and he almost mourned the loss, body trying to chase the feeling even as he had a micro-second to feel nervous because surely now Cold was going to—

 _Holyfuckingshit_ —it was cold, so cold and oh god it was slick and pressing up inside him.

“ _Cold_!” He wasn't sure if it was Snart’s name or just an adjective but he cried it out as the cold cylinder penetrated him, halfway between pain and pleasure, shocked at the intrusion as his body clamped down around it. Fuck it was so _cold—_ pushing its way into him. He cried out and Len wrapped a hand around his thigh to help keep him in place, and Rory’s warm hands were tight on him and thank god because they were helping ground him and he was almost glad they were there. The other man was breathing heavy, almost as heavy as Barry was, and Len was the only one who seemed calm as he smiled down at Barry, catching his eye for a moment, seeing if he could handle it.

“ _Fuck_ , Len.” He didn't mean to use the man’s name but it just slipped out and he could see him smile wider, pressing the cold cylinder deeper while maintaining eye contact, watching Barry moan as his eyes lidded, dazed and it was hard to keep them open. He bucked his hips up, wanting to escape, desperately wanting more of this, insides like ice but still warmer than that cylinder they were clenching around. Nothing in his life had ever felt like it, filling him with slick cold but his body was welcoming it, combating it, craving it.

"I—I need—" he didn't know what he needed but he knew he needed something. Needed to come.

"On the edge and I'm not even inside you yet, Scarlet. Who knew you'd be so wanton?"

"You—I..." he drew in a breath that was wispy and gasp-like, "I'm close, Len, this feels—" there were no words and if they existed he didn't know them. Len pushed in the cylinder faster, picking up the pace and he could feel tears at the edges of his eyes, built up from too much pleasure.

" _Feels_ , Barry?"

"I want— _fuck_ — to  _come_ —I need you to—"

The cold thrusts inside him slowed to a crawl and he whimpered as it came to sit just barely inside him, just the tip teasing his entrance.

"Didn't anyone ever teach you to say please, Scarlet?"

His eyes snapped open again and he felt heat flood his face, almost impossibly given the chill in his body. "You—" the cylinder pressed in hard and sure, straight to his prostate and  _fuck—"Please!"_

Then Len _finally_ touched his cock and he might go insane. But the other man was stroking it so slowly that was almost painful and he spared the thought that it was backwards that _that_  was the painful part of this now. And Rory’s hands had started to drift now that Barry was relaxing and letting Len fuck him with the cylinder, asking him to. Rory's knee still pressed his crossed arms down but the man wrapped one hand around himself while the other grazed over the sensitive flesh on the underside of Barry's arms, ghosting over his lips and then his neck. And somehow the gentleness of those fingers was intoxicating, his breath turning to needy whimpers as they ghosted along him, and as Len stroked his cock with one hand, pressing the cold cylinder continuously in and out of him with the other. And before long it was too much again, too many sensations at once, hot and cold and soft and hard and he was begging, pleading because he wanted, needed, to come.

“Please,” he heard his voice choke out, desperate. "Please!"

“Mmm,” Len leaned forward, “Please what, Barry?”

“I, fuck I need to come—please, I—I’m so close—I need—”

“I know exactly what you need.”

“Len, please,” he gasped.

“Well, since you asked so nicely.”

And he thought Len’s hand would speed up then but the opposite happened. He almost sobbed at the loss of sensation, too far gone to care right now. And then he could feel the intrusive and addictive cold leave his body and managed to blink his eyes open to see Cold rolling on a condom. Before he had time to think he could feel it, slowly pressing into him and god the man was thick, he was so fucking thick and it was a stretch even after what his body had been through, stretching further to accommodate Leonard’s cock. He groaned long and low at the slow sensation of being filled, inch by slow inch, right up to the brim, the heat of Len’s cock a sharp contrast to the cold his body had absorbed, pressing tight around the intrusion until he felt like he might split in two, until Len was inside him up to the hilt.

And then, when he thought he might break, Len started to move, just these little thrusts, slow and shallow and—“Fuck, Len, give it to me harder,” voice hoarse to his own ears because he needed more than this.

“Say that again, Barry,” and Len sounded breathless, on the edge of his own self-control and it was so good.

He dropped the pretense of shame and gasped the words, “Harder, fuck me— _ah_ —fuck me faster, please Len—deep— _ahh_!”

He felt his muscles clench and flex around Len’s cock inside him on the next thrust, fast and deep and so good. But Len stalled there, seated deep, hands on Barry’s hips and he could almost cry, “Please Len!”

And then yes—his hips snapped forward then back, pressing hard and sudden and setting a quick pace, almost punishingly fast and it was everything he needed. He was crying and begging and urging Len on, faster and harder, “Give it to me—fuck—yes—I need it, god I want it—yes” and he was wanton and unrestrained and uncaring. He felt a shock of cold, Len’s still gloved hand dragging the cylinder up his torso and he arched into it, the feeling too good to ignore. And Rory’s fingers found his lips again and he sucked them in without thinking, tilting his head back so that he could, swirling his tongue in time with the heavy pounding thrusts inside him.

He heard Mick Rory swear and felt him shudder somewhere above him, groaning low as Barry sucked harder on those fingers and Mick came, shooting in streaks that landed on Barry’s taught and arched abdomen.

The fingers retreated from his mouth and he was beyond words, beyond speech, just breathy gasps left as his entire body felt like it was on cold fire. He was quaking, shaking, on the edge of vibrating and he heard Len ask how greedy he was for it, replied with something that might be begging and might be a prayer and might be Len’s name and he couldn't think anymore he just _needed_. And at last he felt a gloved hand, frigid and ice cold from holding the cylinder, wrap around his cock and pull long strokes, cold and sure and then he was screaming, whole body vibrating as his orgasm ripped through him, white and hot, eyes rolling back in his head, toes curled and entire body a long line of tight muscle vibrating at an uncontainable frequency. He was clenching around Len’s cock, pressing up into his hand and it was like nothing he can describe and he was cumming and cumming and cumming. It was the most intense orgasm of his life and it felt like lasted for hours and maybe that was because he was going so fast but it was unbearably good, he'd never felt so much ecstasy. He shuddered out his aftershocks even as he felt Len’s hands grip his hips as the man’s orgasm overtook him, gasping Barry’s name as he slammed his hips forward as came.

A few minutes of uncaring afterglow later, Snart had the wherewithal to pull out and dispose of the condom. Barry just laid there, dazed and spent, while Rory stood and stretched, doing up his pants.

Heatwave looked pleased and sated and Cold was looking at him like he could hardly believe Barry was real.

“You sure you don’t want to make this a regular thing, Scarlet?”

He laughed, more relaxed than he’d been in a month, and he wasn’t sure at all, actually.


End file.
